


Bare

by Jinxgirl



Category: Orange is the New Black
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-18
Updated: 2017-08-18
Packaged: 2018-12-17 01:25:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11841081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jinxgirl/pseuds/Jinxgirl
Summary: The impact psychologically of the closet scene, season 5, on Red.





	Bare

Galina “Red” Reznikov was not afraid to die. 

She never had feared something so concrete, so inevitable to everyone as to be made impersonal in its occurrence. She wasn’t afraid of the unknown- how could she be, she who had married a man she barely knew, she who moved to another country when barely old enough to marry at all? She wasn’t even afraid of the possibility of physical pain. She’d experienced plenty of that in her life, and she could take more without buckling under to it. Between her bad back, sleeping on hard, unforgiving surfaces, cooking accidents and injuries, giving birth to two sons, both weighing over nine pounds, and even more than a few incidents of physical assault, Red was no stranger to physical pain. She could take that and power through it, gritting her teeth, even biting out insults or sharp truths all the while that made others flinch instead of her. Even as limited as she was in physical strength, Red could take on a physical injury and still keep her dignity, still keep every bit of her inner and emotional strength intact.

Red had made it her goal to be independent and strong, even with her husband and her sons at her side, and especially so without them. There had been many things in her life that she longed for- acceptance, intimacy, and respect being at the top of the list- but even so, there was nothing that she feared, nothing that she felt she could not get through or face.

Until prison. It was not the actual prison itself, but rather the relationships she formed with the women within it, that for the first time, brought on for Red an all too intently uncomfortable realization of her fears. Not for physical pain or suffering- never that- but of all the mental and emotional torment that each person she cared for in life, each and every single one of them, could inflict upon her- whether or not through their own actions. 

It was an ironic thing that it took imprisonment for Red to finally develop the sort of relationships that she had longed for so fiercely when she was nothing but a lonely immigrant, a wife and mother with few connections outside of her kin. And it was all the more so because the relationships she had wanted for so long were now what caused her to feel threatened- not for her life, but for her heart, and even more so, for the well being of each and every one of the women prisoners that she thought of and loved as her daughters. 

 

Red had always heard it said that you could love no one like your children, that no other in life could ever mean or matter as much. What she hadn’t known was that a person didn’t have to give birth to a human being for that person to be their child, every bit as much and in some ways, even more, than those carried within her own womb. 

And these women, no matter their ages or backgrounds, their differences from her and from each other, were her children now, her daughters, as dear to her as her own sons. Even her sons, with their painful labors and difficult pregnancies, the years of diapers and toilet training, school problems and defying of house rules and curfews, their embarrassed cheek kissing and half hearted hugs, well earned swats on the bottom and cuffs upside the head, had not given her as much worry and fear, nor as much pride and joy, as the women in prison she claimed as her daughters. For many of them, she wouldn’t have predicted they could ever have such an impact upon her. But some had been special from the start. 

Nicky Nichols had been the first to draw her in. She had been so pathetic, her first day, so helpless and miserable, that Red had been unable to resist going to her, seeing what assistance she could offer to help her pull through that first night in prison, which just happened to coincide with her first night on detox. Nicky had been so young, so sick and sad, her hair a wild disarray, trademark thick mascara running in black streaks from her eyes as she gagged and sobbed throughout the night, desperate for someone, anyone, to empathize with her hurting. She had been so obviously lost, so needy for someone’s care, that Red had found the hard veneer she kept around herself softening, to the point that when Nicky burrowed herself into her arms, she found herself hugging her back with genuine caring in the gesture. Even then, on a long night of sickness and misery and Nicky’s mewling wishes to die, Red had felt a spark of connection towards her, an automatic attachment, and she had known for the first time that this young woman was one of hers. Over the years she had encouraged and applauded Nicky’s efforts towards sobriety, scolding her when she couldn’t keep serious and prodding her when she needed a shove in the right direction. She had grieved when Nicky faltered and failed, and she had beamed as though the accomplishment was her own each time that Nicky picked herself up and tried, again and again and again. 

Carrie Black, also known as Big Boo, had been slower in winning her over. Red hadn’t liked or trusted her at first, and still, at times, her trust in her was limited to conditions and context. Boo was vulgar and selfish, overly cocky and not the sort of person that Red would have chosen to spend time with, on the outs. She was sneaky and calculating- perhaps traits that were a bit too uncomfortably close to Red’s own for her to admire- and in the past, Boo had betrayed her confidences, if she thought she could gain something better for herself. But somehow, even so, Boo had wormed her way into Red’s acceptance, and now she too was family, warts and all. 

Blanca Flores was one of those that Red certainly couldn’t have predicted would end up one of her own. She could overlook her being Hispanic, but lack of personal hygiene, at least when it came to a person’s degree of smelliness, was not something Red could usually get past. Then there was her overgrown eyebrows and unbrushed hair, her bad tempered mannerisms and her default thunderous expression. Blanca had rarely spoken her first year in and had a reputation not only for porn pics on a smuggled cell phone, but for being almost as crazy as Suzanne Warren. And yet slowly, she too had gained Red’s respect for her defiance and pride, for her sacrifice of her personal dignity in the face of what she saw as wrong- what her smelliness and table standing had really been about. Red had come to realize that Blanca was funny and smart, that her way of seeing the world and the people in it was much closer to Red’s own than she might have thought. And so Blanca too was one of them, Spanish Harlem resident or not. 

Piper Chapman and Alex Vause had been drawn in reluctantly on Red’s side initially, tolerated more for the same of Nicky, Yoga Jones, and Lorna than because Red herself approved of them. Piper’s idealism and entitlement had raised her hackles, and Red still often rolled her eyes at some of the unintentionally silly or insulting things that came out of the woman’s mouth. But Piper too had gained her respect in her sincerity, in her efforts at being teachable, with her well meaning, if often failed, gestures and her continual caring and attempts at doing what she thought was right- even if her thoughts were shockingly misguided. As for Alex, well, she was a little morose and antisocial, and her choices when it came to women and life decisions was almost as stupid as Nicky’s could be- but Alex too had grown on her, with her sarcastic humor and logical way of thought. 

They were her girls, her daughters, as much if not more so than her biological sons. When had her sons gone through the sort of hardships with her that her daughters had? When had her sons cared for her when she was injured or ill, when had her sons endured poor quality food and health care, the dehumanizing treatment and sometimes outright abuse of the guards and overall prison regulations? Her sons were spoiled, arrogant boys, men in a man’s world, and they could never understand and respect her on the level that her daughters could, with the knowledge of what she survived. Here in prison, Red had status that she never could gain when free. She was looked up to and sought out for her advice, seen as someone with knowledge, someone to go to when in need. In prison, she was loved in a way that she could actually feel, a way that had never quite seemed real with her husband and sons. 

Until Officer Piscatella took that from her. Until he took her daughters and captured them, tying them up, tormenting, terrifying, and humiliating them, all in front of Red- all for Red, as an intended message for her alone. What he did to them, making her see the pain, anger, and fear sparking brightly in their eyes, was worse to Red than if he had beat her to death. 

But the very worst of it- the very worst part of it all- was when he started to strip her down. Cutting her hair, her shirt, forcing her to be bare and helpless before her girls, seeing her as weak and old and useless, even more so than they were themselves. Watching Alex launch herself forward to defend her, knowing that it was her own helplessness that was to blame for how he struck out against her, for the anguish Alex felt from the moment her arm snapped in two. Hearing the agony in her scream, seeing Piper’s flood of tears and her shrill words aimed Piscatella’s way, words that could not hurt him back as he had hurt her lover. Seeing the grim stillness in Boo’s face and the sagging weariness of Blanca’s, the smoldering anger that had no way of expressing itself. Feeling the force of Nicky’s sobs, the weight of her head against her legs as she hid her face from seeing Alex’s pain, and being unable even to lift her arms to comfort her. 

Seeing them all suffer, and being unable to do anything, anything at all to make it right, to make it stop. That was the most horror that Red could imagine, the very worst she had ever endured. She would rather be killed outright than to ever have to endure any of it again. 

It didn’t matter, afterwards, that they had escaped, that eventually tears were dried and bodies were clothed, that Alex’s arm was set, and none had suffered lasting physical harm. To Red, the damage had been done, and she knew she could not come back from it. How could she, when she had already faced her greatest fear, and come through it to confirm her own lacking? 

End


End file.
